


being seen

by kismetics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempt at a Plot Kinda, Biting, Consent, How Do I Tag, M/M, Mentioned Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu is a mess, Oikawa Tooru is a Good Boyfriend, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25689187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kismetics/pseuds/kismetics
Summary: So there they were, in his parent’s —away on a trip for their anniversary or some shit— bedroom, with his laptop in between them, screen loading with the first porn video Atsumu found.He was two seconds away from jumping out the window.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 4
Kudos: 102





	being seen

**Author's Note:**

> who the fuck writes 6k words of pwp anyways its tagged underage bc atsumu is a second year and oikawa a third year but there's consent so,

The world is spinning.

How did it come to this, again? Someone please explain it to Atsumu before he passes out from sheer embarrassment alone. Tooru has no sense of personal space, apparently, because he just keeps trying to snuggle up Atsumu’s side despite him subtly getting away whenever he gets the chance to. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be that close to Tooru, because if he had the chance to cuddle with him he would gladly take it.

It’s just that—

There’s a laptop, his laptop, in front of them, playing a video. More specifically, a video for adults. Again, more specifically: they’re on a bed, together, watching porn on Atsumu’s computer.

Ah, he remembers how this happened, now. How this came to be. And he really, really just wants someone to bury him alive, maybe ’Samu. Definitely not Tooru or Kita-san. Or Aran.

“ _ Atsu-chan! You shouldn’t think of your supporters like that! I, personally, always treat my fanclub with care and love and always eat the treats they give me, _ ” Tooru had reprimanded him, sporting a —probably fake— lovesick look on his face when talking about his fans, while he softly punched him on the arm. Atsumu had groaned, swatting his hand away, before turning towards him.

“ _ Yeah, well, girls are a pain in the ass. What would your fans think of you if they saw how many dirty magazines you own? Because I just know you have a dirty mind in there, _ ” Atsumu’s face was the perfect representation of faked annoyance, with a frown and a grimace, fickling at Tooru’s forehead and relinquishing in the squeal of denial the other let out.

He just wished he hadn’t walked himself right into a trap when saying that. Really, he should have known better, why did he even say that? Had his many, many fantasies of Tooru finally gotten to his head in that moment, sealing his fate as that one dude that died because his crush was a touchy person?

“ _ I do not, Atsu-chan! I am pure and nice and have never touched or seen any of that nasty stuff! _ ” Oikawa whined, latching onto his arm for more effect, then, the idea popped up in the older Miya’s mind, and he turned to look at the older student with a devilish smirk. His ’signature asshole smirk’, according to some people, to be clear.

“ _ So you’ve never watched porn, then, _ ” he had laughed when both of Tooru’s perfectly styled eyebrows had gone up to his hairline, and then smiled a bit more innocently when he nodded. “ _ Then we should watch some together, I can show you the good stuff, _ ” and, truly, in hindsight he should have realized that, first, Tooru was putting up an act, second, Tooru was exactly the same as him, and third:

Tooru never said no to him.

So here they were, in his parent’s —away on a trip for their anniversary or some shit, although going by the way they had offered Osamu to accompany them they probably just wanted to be away from Atsumu for a while— bedroom, with his laptop in between them, screen loading with the first porn video the older Miya found. He, for once, was trying to maintain his distance from Oikawa, but the other just kept slowly moving closer. So slowly that Atsumu only noticed when their hands were brushing and he had to physically stop himself from running out the door in pure embarrassment.

He should have also considered the fact that Oikawa was a touchy person by nature, but, well. What’s done is done.

Osamu had stayed in their shared room, thank God. He wouldn’t be able to tolerate it if Tooru decided to cuddle up with him instead of Atsumu because he kept running away. It would be reasonable, maybe, to go to someone else if Atsumu kept avoiding him, denying his advances, even if to Tooru they weren’t really that meaningful. Probably. He’s just a touchy person. But Osamu has already taken so many things from him, he thinks, nothing physical— more like Osamu, maybe without realizing it, took Atsumu’s pride, confidence, self-love, he took it all with his cold and pale hands, and then destroyed it. Absolutely smashed everything that was Atsumu against the ground, and stepped on it and set it ablaze until  _ Atsumu _ became nothing more than a role he had to play.

Yeah.

Osamu took Atsumu’s life from him. Somehow. Atsumu is the older one, and he spent seven minutes on this world before Osamu was born and he was set aside, waiting for his father to pick him up again only to be welcomed into the arms of a nurse. Atsumu is the older one, and yet Osamu feels stronger than him. Always.

Tooru makes a small noise —a whine?— with an emotion Atsumu can’t quite name, but it’s probably just to get his attention back so he doesn’t bother with looking too much into it, taking the chance of himself staying in one place for long enough for him to hold, and that’s it, Atsumu’s end. The older hugs his arm, props his head on his shoulder, then turns to look at him.

Atsumu’s mind is quite literally emptied of any and all thoughts. His brain melts inside his head and then drips down from his ears because of how hot his face gets, all the blood rushing there, when he looks down at Tooru, and notices how close they are.

“Everything good over there?” up this close, Miya can notice many things about Oikawa he never had the time to do— bright eyes, naturally long eyelashes, peachy pink lips, dusted red cheeks. He’s wearing makeup, Miya notices, and also wonders what that lipstick would taste like, or if he would be able to feel Oikawa’s lashes against his cheekbones if they kissed hard enough. 

“Yeah, over there?” he manages to wheeze out, voice high enough to warrant the embarrassment that comes after. Tooru blinks up at him, smiling sweetly— a  _ real _ smile, the one that makes his heart do backflips inside his ribcage, rattling his bones and causing him to go into cardiac arrest; the one he’s seen only through pictures and  _ that one time _ Inarizaki beat Shiratorizawa at Nationals and Oikawa was there to witness it.

Then he pouts and glances back down at the laptop, which is playing a really not-all-that-good porn video. Suddenly Atsumu is aware of the filthy moans, too loud and exaggerated, filling the room, as well as the squelching sounds, the wet  _ smack smack _ of skin against skin, the  _ ’fuck yeah, take it, like that, fucking whore’ _ coming out from the actor’s mouth as he dives in deep and fast.

Atsumu imagines Tooru moaning that against his nape, as he pistons inside of him. Imagines moaning, all broken and mindless, _ ’yeah, I’m your fucking pig.’ _

Then he tunes back in to hear what Tooru’s about to say, and the explanation behind that cute little pout he has. He wants to fuck that out of his face, too. Have the Great King, Tooru Oikawa, choking on his cock, moaning loosely as Atsumu grips his hair with strength and forces him to take it all in, cumming in his pants when Atsumu slides out, leaves only the tip of is cock inside his mouth so Tooru can  _ feel _ and  _ taste _ the cum on his mouth before swallowing it.

(Yeah, Oikawa definitely swallows. He would swallow it all then grin, perverted and  _ hot _ , glancing at him with that challenging look he wears during matches.  _ Yes, _ Atsumu as seen all of Aoba Johsai’s volleyball games and yes, he focused way too much on Tooru during those. Nothing to be embarrassed about.)

“She doesn’t look like she’s enjoying it,” Tooru mumbles against his shoulder, bringing his attention back to him and the present _ , _ and once again Atsumu is hit by the realization that he’s close, too close, hyperware of one of Tooru’s hands on Atsumu’s thigh, and trying to abandon his side now that there’s practically no empty space in between them would be too obvious. He needs to think, needs an escape.

His mouth opens and before he can think correctly of what to say, the words are out of his mouth.

“I could make you enjoy it,” he ends up blurting out, because apparently his brain just up and goes whenever he most needs it. He swallows, hard, then focuses on the screen instead of Tooru, next to him, who lets out a breathy laugh before getting on his knees against his arm, making sure Atsumu can feel his groin without actually going into contact with it.

“Is that a proposition?” Oikawa murmurs right by his ear, and the older Miya blinks his stupor —and blush, creeping high on his cheeks and down his collarbone— off, before turning around to lock eyes with a very excited, very childish-looking Tooru, and fuck he shouldn’t feel this aroused by that toothy grin and those soft cheeks and plump lips and long lashes.

“A promise, maybe,” he answers, trying his best to slip back into his cool, calm, fuckboy facade. Because that’s what he does best, putting on a disguise and playing a character he isn’t. But Tooru doesn’t buy it, he never does. He giggles, stretching one arm in front of them to reach the laptop and close it, immediately stopping all background noise. There’s just them, now.

Them, the sound of their breathing —Atsumu’s, ragged and nervous; Tooru’s, calm and collected—, their heartbeats loud against their own ears, the rustling of sheets as Oikawa moves up to press against the older Miya again, lips leaving breathy kisses along the line of his jaw before they travel all the way up to the corner of his lips.

“You sure?” and, fuck, yes, he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. Atsumu turns his head to the side, connects their lips. It looks, and feels, like the air was punched out of his lungs, with the way he hunches over, both arms around Tooru’s shoulders, who leans back against his own body, back forming a perfect arc.

It feels like everything he ever wanted, like sinking deep in the water, where the pressure pushes down everything, blocks the outside world, and it’s just him, Atsumu Miya, floating in an endless darkness that just keeps pulling and pulling until he inevitably runs out of oxygen and has to swim back up to the surface before he gives up and breathes in salty water. He thinks it’s very fitting to compare Tooru to the deep sea, actually. He feels safe when being embraced by both; and when he does, he’s just  _ Atsumu Miya. _ Not Osamu Miya’s twin, not Inarizaki’s shitty setter, not his mother’s son. He just is, without expectations, without obligations. He’s allowed to exist without worries, without having to always strive to be perfect, and then more, because if he doesn’t then the monster that’s his insecurities will swallow him up and chew hard and all of his bones will give under that strength, and he’ll die but not without suffering—

They part for air, and Tooru reaches for him once again with eyes closed. One hand buried deep in his soft hair, Atsumu stops him, holding him in place with a small, confident smile. He’s himself, again. Somehow. The real him, not the asshole everyone knows, not the loser his twin brother remembers, not the annoying kid his parents raised. He’s no one but himself, the real version, the one that laughs bitterly when Rintarou comments on his mental stability, that cries a single tear when showering and then feels disgusted for life, that smiles when he gets a new text from  _ Tooru-n. _

“That answers your question?” Tooru laughs, deep in his throat, a predatory sound that Atsumu feels against his own chest.

“It very much does, yeah,” then he’s being dragged away from the headrest and onto his back, Oikawa high on top of his body. His head is perfectly cushioned in between pillows, and he absentmindedly wonders if Tooru knew that that’s his favorite position to lay down or if this was just a coincidence.

He doesn’t bother suppressing a groan when he pulls Oikawa down on him again, going full-force. He can’t let himself overthink this, ruin it. His own mouth mashes against those attractive, peach-flavored lips of Tooru, as if trying to flatten and destroy his mouth. He hungrily pushes back, mouth already open without the need of Atsumu’s tongue forcing its way in. Long lashes brush against his cheeks, slightly, as he grips his head firmly, as if trying to keep him from vanishing, trying to remind himself that this is real, that Tooru Oikawa is here, that he won’t run away. 

Then they separate for air again, and Atsumu will forever deny if mentioned the whine that he lets out at the loss of contact. Tooru chuckles, a sort of worried look passing through his eyes before they join lips again, and this time— this time there’s something different from Atsumu’s rough, sad, desperate kiss. 

Oikawa kisses him like how Atsumu  _ wanted _ to be kissed, like no girl had ever kissed him, soft and moist and hot and breathy, not trying to win a battle but seeking union and closeness and the sharing of one breath, one sensation, one timeless and passionate moment. The heat rises in the older Miya’s usually pale cheeks as his own tongue touches the other boy’s, quick and electric and delicious, then firmer, more determined, more curious about the heat that lay within, seeking to chase down that elusive liquid lighting that ran through both of them. They’re the same, more or less, always hungry for more and with energy to spare until they don’t have any. Like this, Atsumu thinks, the hunger inside of him could be quelled. With kisses and hot, burning touches that send him reeling and pressing up and pushing down for more more,  _ more, more. _

More than Tooru  _ can _ give him.

He makes the choice to let himself be dominated. Tooru Oikawa, the Great King, has already proved himself to be more than enough, to be perfect and then better than that, and maybe some other day in the future when they meet again he’ll have him choking on his cock. For now though, he’s happy as it is to be filled with him and  _ only him. _ The look that crosses Tooru’s face is funny, when he tries to pull Atsumu’s jacket out of his body only to have the younger rip it off, along with his shirt, and throw it across the room with an impatient glare. He allows himself a quiet chuckle, not unlike the few Tooru had thrown his way before.

When he looks up, he thinks there must be something poetic about this, some sort of thought or metaphor he’s missing, in the way he’s hurrying Tooru up in the task that usually would be to undress him, the way he’s letting him discover every inch of himself in a way no one ever has done so before— because yes, Atsumu has had his own share of flings before this, his own rocky sex life, but never has anyone treated him with this care, gazed down his body with the appreciation one feels for a sunrise, touched him in a way one only touches an extra special vase, like the one he broke when he was eight.

Maybe that’s why his parents always hated him so much. That vase had been worth a lot of money.

Still, Tooru doesn’t allow him to dwell on his thoughts about vases and parents and metaphors for long, lips coming in contact with his chest in a sucking motion that has Atsumu arching off the bed, gasping with some weird mix of surprise and adoration. This is it, he thinks, this is the worst thing i’m about to do: letting Tooru Oikawa fuck me in my parents bed during our first real meeting, outside of the court and outside of passing glances and whispers of  _ ’is that Atsumu Miya? Who is that next to him?’.  _ But he finds that he doesn’t care much when Tooru leans down to lick and nip at one of his nipples, raising one soft and perfectly manicured hand to play with the other— it feels kinda weird, ticklish, but still good, so he doesn’t complain.

Ah, and there it is, the poetry of it all: Atsumu is letting himself be seen, behind all of his walls, he’s exposing himself and all of his oddities and weak points to a stranger, when he’s never even let people he sees on the daily hug him.

He’s letting himself be seen by the world and the world is Tooru Oikawa, leaning over him in his parents’ bedroom on his parents’ bed.

He’s giving Tooru his all, without expecting nothing in return, because of something as simple and at the same way complicated as love, and how ridiculous is he, for falling for someone he’s never met? For all he knows, Oikawa is just an asshole, someone trying to get laid and ready to run off in the morning, ready to never see him again.

Atsumu is fine with that, really. If he even gets a taste of what could have been, then he won’t complain, this is already so much more than he expected.

“What are you thinking about?” Tooru whispers against his collarbone before biting down, making him suppress an obscenely loud moan. He then licks and sucks the same area, as if trying to soothe the pain, before moving on to bite somewhere else. Atsumu arches into the touch, completely ignoring the question, until. “You know I’m not doing this just for, I don’t know, fun or something, right?” and that, if anything, has him cracking one eye open, staring straight into wide brown eyes, filled with so many emotions he can barely begin to describe them. one of Oikawa’s hands, the one previously playing with his chest, slides down to grip at his thigh, fingers pressing there before slowly moving past the end of his shorts.

Atsumu swallows a gasp, breathes in, blinks back tears.

“It would be fine, you know,” he breathes out, and hates how weak his own voice sounds, how broken and hurt and soft  _ he _ sounds. It doesn’t make Tooru stop his ministrations, if anything he increases the areas of contact in between them, but it does make him go up, pressing his forehead against Miya’s with care, gazing at him like he’s the best view in the world.

“It wouldn’t, Atsu-chan,” then he kisses him, and unlike the other times, this one doesn’t seem to have a purpose higher than showing love, and appreciation. It’s slow and all Atsumu ever wished for, because it feels like freedom, like the happiness he always wished for, like the idea of love he carefully crafted and cherished inside his own broken mind when he was a kid. His hands find their way to Tooru’s hair, holding him in place, tangling themselves and caressing his scalp and tugging sometimes to move his head to the side, and Tooru allows it all to happen, breathing through his nose before pulling away, not smiling, but still looking the happiest Atsumu has ever seen him. “Everything good over there, then?” and it’s— that stupid question again, asked with a goofy smile on his face as if they, or at least Atsumu, weren’t hard as rocks. The fake-blond swallows before nodding. He knows Tooru means no harm, mostly, probably just wants to tease a little bit— but he also needs the consent, because Atsumu has spent one too many nights confessing his worst fears to Tooru, and now he is seen as a glass statue that could break at any given time.

He’s fine with that.

He’s fine with being cared for. Just this once, he’ll allow himself to enjoy it without overthinking it and ruining it. If only just a little bit.

Atsumu doesn’t do well with attention, or at least  _ this _ kind of attention, the one that’s purely fueled by  _ care,  _ of all things. Had both too much and not enough of it growing up the least liked sibling; flinches too hard when Ginjima speaks too loud, and is left speechless when Shinsuke genuinely tells him to go home and rest. But right now, he feels none of those things. He doesn’t feel the cold dread rapidly expanding in his body through his veins, nor the hot white feeling of betrayal and annoyance that has him biting back bitter words of discouragement. He only feels  _ want. _ He feels selfish, like this, wanting, needing more and more of Tooru— his eyes on him at all times, hands pressing hard enough to bruise because if they’re softer then Atsumu won’t feel them, mouth biting and marking him forever or at least for the next few days, hips against his own stuttering ever so slightly sometimes.

He sighs, happy. Tooru separates only long enough to get rid of Atsumu’s shorts, and then he’s back on him again— only then does he realize that he’s well on his way to nakedness while Oikawa is still fully dressed, the only missing piece of clothing on him is his sweater.

“Take off your clothes,” he whines, tugging at the older setter’s clothes. It’s out of character, even for him, but Tooru seems to enjoy his bratty act, even if between the two he’s usually the more childish one.

Oikawa sits back on his calves, and starts to slowly remove his own clothes, offering him a show, kinda, with the way he smiles and hums a small tune while doing so.  _ Tu-run, tu-run, tu-run. _ The older Miya leans back on his elbows to observe, eyes shining with adoration and admiration as they run back and forth along the body in front of him, saving it all in his memory without care. When Tooru gets rid of his white shirt and moves to unbuckle his pants, Atsumu stops him in place by holding one hand out, fingers caressing the muscle there. It’s not much, exactly proportional— enough that Tooru can presume of having them, but not so much that it becomes noticeable when wearing clothes and ruins his cutesy character.

“Like the view?” Atsumu is tempted to glare, to mumble  _ I absolutely fucking despise you, _ like he so often does with the other people in his life, never showing a hint of humanity,  _ but. _

“Yes,” he breathes out instead. Tooru’s smirk grows into a full smile as he leans over again, peppering his face with kisses, and Atsumu can’t find it in himself to actually complain. He just lays there, taking it all in. Oikawa doesn’t take his pants off, just leaves the fly down, but even that is enough for the older Miya to be able to see the big tent in his underwear when he peers down. He tries not to shiver when something deep inside of him, something primal, aches with need.

Eventually, which actually just means a few open-mouthed kisses later, Tooru goes lower. He bites and sucks Atsumu’s neck, moving to his collarbone with few kisses while his own hands roam around, caressing and pinching and— doing so much Atsumu can’t really keep track of it all, he just knows that it feels good, that his mind is clouded, that the only thing he can do is grip and pull at Tooru’s hair, bringing out small groans from him that go straight down to his cock.

And then his mouth closes around one of Atsumu’s nipples and he just  _ sucks. _ But this time it causes a different effect on Atsumu.

He supposes he shouldn’t really be surprised with the moan that  _ that _ brings out of him, considering that the few times he himself played with his nipples after reading that it gave pleasure to men too he felt  _ something  _ there, but it was never really this strong, and even the first time Tooru decided to play with his chest he felt himself getting turned on because of the attention, not the feeling. He always felt a little bit weird after doing it himself, felt like he wasn’t doing it correctly even if it was his own body and he should know what he likes the most. Still, Tooru catches the same one with his teeth and Atsumu’s body jerks, hips moving upwards without him meaning to; it’s probably because they’re already hard, and he’s searching for all the stimulation, contact, he can get. It feels like too much, especially when instead of using his hand the same way he did before, Tooru lets it roam carefully, down,  _ down, down... _

“Wait!” he squeaks, and Tooru immediately stops moving, still for one second then moving the next, breaking apart from Atsumu and fuck— no—  _ come back. _

“Something wrong?” he asks, now hovering on top of him, casting a curious but worried glance his way. Atsumu grits his teeth, mentally punches himself, then takes a deep, shuddering, breath before speaking.

“It’s— no— come back,” is what ends up coming out, repeating his earlier thoughts like a dumbass, but Oikawa doesn’t look annoyed, if anything, he raises one of his eyebrows at Miya, amused, and it all manifests a strange sort of feeling that travels all throughout his body. “It’s too much— too good— I can’t,” but then Tooru is back on him, lower, mouth grazing his hip bone, eyes staring deep into Atsumu’s with a gaze predatory enough to make him tremble in anticipation.

“Don’t worry, you can,” he kisses there, then goes lower to bite at Atsumu’s inner thigh. He can’t repress the shudder and gasp that leaves his mouth, already done with all of this foreplaying. His cock has been hard as a rock inside his underwear for a while now, probably leaking and red as a fucking tomato with how abandoned Tooru had left him.

Oikawa mouths him through the cloth, and is only when Miya bumps his back with his foot that he relents, chuckling a little before freeing his erection. Cold air hits him first, and then he moans when Oikawa hovers over it, huffing hot puffs of air that make him fist the sheets under him lest he accidentally thrusts straight into that open, awaiting mouth.

He can’t blame him too much, though, because all of that anticipation has him moaning the loudest he ever has —he still pushes his own fist inside his mouth like, half a second after the noise leaves him— when he finally gets deepthroated, and  _ fuck,  _ when did Oikawa learn to do this? Last time he talked to him he almost cried at the thought of getting an entire popsicle there.

The older pulls away, swallow, then smiles at him innocently.

“Fuck my face,” he must have heard wrong.

“What?”

“Fuck my face,” Tooru repeats brightly. “By the way, do you wanna do it raw or not? I don’t have any STDs, I checked, but if you want me to use a condom I am a-okay,” Atsumu stares at him a bit more.

“Do you have lubricant or are you just going to use your spit?”

“Spit doesn’t work as a lubricant, dummy! ’T dries too fast, unless you want it to hurt a little bit?” Atsumu nods, hesitantly. Tooru smiles, pushes a pillow under Atsumu’s body, then gives his ass a quick squeeze then a slap.

“You rascal!” he doesn’t have time to complain too much, though. Tooru gets three fingers inside his mouth, and he chokes a little in surprise before a moan makes its way out, product of the older’s hand giving his cock a quick squeeze.

“C’mon, you gotta wet them properly,” and that’s exactly what he does once he gets his bearings back. He can feel Tooru, hard and hot, pressing against himself, and it only makes him suck harder on his fingers. Giving him a show, one of his own hands comes up to grasp at the other’s wrist, bringing it closer to his face and, subsequently, making his fingers go in deeper; he maneuvers his tongue in between them, wets them properly, puts his lack of gag reflex —fucked out of him actually— to good use as he watches Tooru’s pupils dilate a tad more every time he sucks on all three fingers at once.

By the end, they’re almost completely black.

Oikawa pulls his fingers out of Miya’s mouth, then leans down until his breath hits Miya’s cock while his fingers softly move around his entrance.

Then, all at once, he goes down on him at the same time one finger goes in. Atsumu lets out a choked moan, one of his hands coming down to fist Tooru’s hair while the other covers his own mouth. Tooru wastes no time, thrusting his finger in and out, probing around to see if he can find Atsumu’s good spot —it’s not as if he’s actually  _ that _ tight, he’s used to playing with that particular part of himself even if he’d never admit it out loud— while he swallows around the cock in his mouth, causing the body under him to jerk in pleasure, before moving upwards so only the tip is in. He sucks, gives kitten licks all around the length of it, then fits as much of it as he can inside of his mouth— which is a lot, and one part of Atsumu is stuck wondering if Tooru has a gag reflex or not, while the other just wants to see if Tooru would be able to fit the entirety of his cock inside his mouth if he were pushed enough.

(Maybe Tooru had his gag reflex fucked out of him too, and the thought of a nameless man pounding deep inside his mouth shouldn’t be as arousing to Atsumu as it is, but anyways. He can’t control his own hornyness even if he tried.)

It’s a bit hard to thrust up with his current position, lower body being held in place by one of Tooru’s hands while the other preps him. Then he realizes that— Tooru hadn’t complained when he had roughly fisted his hair, so maybe,  _ maybe, _ he had a small masochistic streak, just like Atsumu did.

He’s realizing that they’re way more similar than he initially thought.

With a sardonic smile, he tightens his grip. Oikawa gives him a curious glance through long eyelashes when he does, but Atsumu pays him no mind, pressing his feet against the mattress under them to steel himself, before grinding on the finger inside of him and dragging Oikawa upwards, watching as his cock slowly slides out from his mouth. Tooru stares at him through half-lidded eyes, another finger pressing down on his entrance with playfulness, eager to see what his next move will be. Atsumu grabs Tooru’s head with his other hand, too— then forces him downwards on himself again with a soft moan, eyes closed and head thrown back.

Then repeat.

It’s slower than if he were standing and Tooru on his knees in front of him, but pleasurable all the same. The fingers inside of him feel weird until they don’t, and when Tooru finally adds the third one —already kinda dry, and the stretch burns but it's so, so good when all three hit his prostate— he cums, hard, with only the tip in Oikawa’s mouth, and he gets finger-fucked —Tooru tries all sort of things to get him to open more easily that leave him panting and crying out and clenching his thighs around the other’s head in a way that will later make him worry if it hurt— through it all.

“You think you can cum a second time?” Tooru asks once he swallows the most he can, with still a small amount of cum dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Just  _ do it already _ will ya’!” his voice is slurred and accent thicker, but Tooru merely smiles, sweet as if he hadn’t just sent Atsumu to heaven and back, and the fingers inside of him press against his prostate one more time before pulling out— Atsumu  _ thinks _ he did a good job of not whining at the feeling of being empty,  _ again. _

It’s annoying how, even when he’s not conscious of it —because he did  _ not _ mean to make such a needy sound—, he’s so desperate for Tooru to keep touching him, to keep admiring him, to slam his own body into Atsumu’s to join them, to make them one. To complete him.

He also wants to be fucked out of his mind so the poetic bullshit inside his head will stop, for once.

Tooru lines himself up with him, a sly smile on his face that makes Atsumu want to punch him and at the same time kiss him until they’re both breathless. He goes with the latter option, pulling the older man down with both hands around his neck, joining their lips inna bruising, forceful kiss that has his hips bucking up, searching for  _ more. _ Oikawa chuckles against his lips, pulling away against Miya’s protesting whines, if only to see the way his cock slowly disappears inside of the younger man as he sinks in, relishing in that erotic warmth and tightness all around him with a low groan that has Atsumu looking up, beet red.

See,  _ that's _ the thing with Atsumu Miya. He never,  _ never, _ blushes —if it's not a physical reaction to like, doing exercise during the summer—, but when he does it's an adorable thing that covers his entire face, from the tip of his ears to his chest. It has Tooru leaning down to lick a long stripe on his neck, tasting salt and the coconut of Atsumu’s body wash, and to bite hard.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he moans when the fake-blond makes this soft kind of sound, between a moan and a cry,  _ ah-ah. _ So cute. Adorable.

“Shuddup,” Atsumu stutters, but his voice breaks towards the end when Tooru starts pulling our—  _ oh, _ so he’s going for the languid thrusts.

“Look at that~” he coos, eyes shining with adoration and a soft smile on his face, accompanied by a blush on his cheeks, as he stares down at where their body joins. Atsumu tightens involuntarily, biting his lip to not let out any more embarrassing noises. “It’s like you’re sucking me in again, Atsumu, like you can’t stand being without me~” with that cute smile turning into something more—  _ sadistic, _ Tooru leans in, grabbing Atsumu’s chin with two fingers, forcing him to look up, straight at his face. “Can you, Atsu-chan?”

Then he starts fucking him in a fast, killer pace, absolutely destroying Atsumu. Not that he complains, he’s just surprised.

“Atsu-chan~” Tooru whines, hair sticking to his forehead. His hands grip Atsumu’s hips with strength, keeping him in place, surely bruising him. He doesn’t really care, not when he’s getting pleasured like this. It’s the kind of fucking that sends him reeling, that makes him lose his mind completely when he cums.

Then he realizes that Tooru is waiting for an answer on his part.  _ How ridiculous, _ he wants to mock him,  _ how utterly ridiculous and childish,  _ as if he wasn't the same. But when he opens his mouth, the words that come out are different.

“I can’t— I— Please—,” he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, to be honest.  _ Harder, faster, _ maybe. Tooru bites his lower lip, with a stupid smile on his face— one can practically _ see _ the hearts in his eyes. He doesn't stop moving, and Atsumu can barely breathe in between moans.

His pale skin starts receiving a peppering with a continuous barrage of kisses as Tooru shifts, cock dragging along tightened walls, and thrusts in with a explosive jolt. Before Atsumu can gather a breath, he feels another deep piston, and can't stop the harsh, strangled cry from gushing forth. It feels so amazing, so hot that he doesn't even try to muffle his voice this time. It's shameless, the way his mind fills with thoughts that range from ‘this is so, so embarrasing’ to ‘let them— let everyone hear how good of a fuck this is, how loved you are’.

Tooru doesn’t let him dwell too much on his thoughts, again. It’s like he has a sixth sense for when Atsumu is overthinking. Maybe he’s so used to doing it himself that he can tell when others aren’t completely focused on the outside.

Atsumu soon finds his fingers buried into the mattress, clinging to bunched up sheets as a solid shock pulses his body, cock tapping against his stomach from the jolts and sending wave after wave of bliss through him. He twists, body curling because Tooru is so, so close to hitting that spot again, his cock practically brushing the bundle of nerves. Miya mewls, and Oikawa seems to get the message: effortlessly, he finds that delicious spot, and attacks it over and over and Atsumu can no longer handle the cascading waves of bliss clawing at him.

Before he knows it, he’s nearly sobbing from the relentless pounding, his nails scratching hard at Tooru’s body, and it must hurt— but he doesn’t seem bothered by it. He seems proud.

It's so hard, the cock inside him, thrusting and filling him so amazingly that he starts to want to climb even higher. Wants to touch his own begging cock and come, see stars.

“Ah-ah,” Tooru stops his hand before he can touch himself, and Atsumu looks up with eyes filled with tears, flushed face, lips opened mid-moan. “You can come with your ass, right? Right?” he looks so dominant, so powerful and unbearably cute like that. Miya nods, attempts to, and buries his face on the pillow under his head, hips jerking as he pushes back against the body on top of him. Tooru holds his wrist, bringing that arm to his own neck with a moan. “God, you’re adorable.”

Atsumu whines, one step away from complete mindlessness. The heat keeps building in his lower stomach, but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Tooru keeps hitting that same place, and he is moaning, too, a rough sound that’s slightly lower than Atsumu’s, groans and curses and gasps. Miya chokes on his own spit, and Oikawa leans down to swallow all of the noises with a bruising kiss that has him seeing stars.

One more step, one more step,  _ one more— _

With a shudder, Tooru comes inside of him, breaking their mouths apart if only to sigh, both eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. Atsumu blinks up at him, in a daze, adoring that expression, and then—

He feels so full, so complete, so alive, so warm.

For a few seconds it’s like he’s only seeing white, only able to process how much pleasure is shooting through his body, before the feeling of teeth sinking into his throat snaps him back into reality. Tooru licks at the bite mark, as if soothing the pain. Atsumu is tempted to arch his body and press his neck into the curve of that sinful mouth, again. I like the pain, he thinks.  _ Show everyone I’m yours.  _ He doesn't say.

Tooru finally pulls out of Atsumu, dreadfully slow. The way it glides against his walls has him twitching in his grasp, toes curling with overstimulation. Such a small, small gesture, and yet it’s making his whole body shudder.

He attempts to steady himself and return to reality, but Tooru is still keen on nettling him.

“We— needa clean,” it’s hard to speak, Atsumu realizes. The words are slurred, accent thicker, voice like molasses.

“We can do that later,” Tooru kisses his jaw, then gives him a peck on the lips. Atsumu lets himself be cuddled to sleep, feeling all kinds of filthy with the sweat and cum all over his body, but still.

It will be hell on earth when they leave the room. He can indulge in this quietness just for a bit longer.

**Author's Note:**

> kind reminder that kudos and comments are my life source, and i'm always open for constructive criticism!


End file.
